


Dead on Arrival

by thePetetoherPatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm Sorry, M/M, Oneshot, Patrick is a Paramedic, Pete is a Ghost, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicide, Trigger Warnings, idk how I came up with this crap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 22:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8226457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thePetetoherPatrick/pseuds/thePetetoherPatrick
Summary: Patrick is a Paramedic, he's not a total rookie but he's only been on the job for a year...how does he cope with his first Dead on Arrival case...and the weirdness that follows?





	

**_Patrick_ **

 

I sit in the passenger seat of the ambulance with my headphones in. Gabe picks up the radio. A call. I watch his face to gauge what kind of call this is going to be. His brows furrow together and he sighs deeply. Not good. He puts up the radio. I turn off my music and pull out my headphones. 

 

“How bad?” I ask. 

 

“Not the kind of call we ever want to have.” he mumbles at em without looking over at me. 

 

We pull out of our parking spot beside the convenience store, and he turns on the lights and sirens. Most people move out of the way like they are supposed to. We don’t end up going real far, just to one of the little apartment buildings a few blocks away. Gabe parks us at the front door. 

 

“Alright Patrick, I don’t want to, really don’t like the idea, but I’m gonna send you in ahead of me while I open the ambulance and get out the stretcher.” he shoos me off. “Apartment six on the first floor.” 

 

I grab my medic bag and take off, I’ve got no idea what I’m walking into but I know I need to move fast. I find the door for number six quickly and knock. There is no answer but the door is unlocked when I try it. 

 

“Hello?” I call out, following the same procedure I’ve used for the last year. “I’m Patrick, I’m a Paramedic, can you let me know where you are?” 

 

I look around and listen. Nothing. They might be unresponsive. I check behind the island in the kitchen and in the small bathroom, of which the door was sitting open. I find nothing so I go to the little bedroom in the back. I already know it’s not an elderly person that’s fallen by the contents of the apartment but I was not prepared for what is on the other side of that door. 

 

I move quickly, checking his wrists, the bleeding has slowed because he hasn’t got much left, I cringe. I check his pulse and find nothing. His chest is still, he’s not breathing. I quickly stop the bleeding the best I can and start CPR. Gabe is by my side suddenly, checking him over but there is no response. 

 

“You have to call it, Patrick.” he says shakily. Even he didn’t know it’d be this bad apparently. 

 

I kneel there for a second on the blood soaked carpet. Gabe pulls out a form. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, his face has burned itself into the back of my eyelids already. I start speaking, even though my throat is tight, the string of phrases they teach you but you hope you never have to say. “Dead on arrival,” I open my eyes. “Cause of death is severe blood loss via self-inflicted injury.” my voice cracks as I look at the face of the man on the floor and close his eyes. He’s barely older than me.

 

~~~

 

The hospital made me take almost a month off, slowly coming back over time to make sure I recovered from my first DOA. After the years of schooling and training, and a year on the job only one DOA, and it’s the kind that I hear older Paramedics say traumatized them. Nothing prepares you for that and you never forget it. I did alright for a long time. The nightmares never stopped but they got easier to bare, I’d seen them all already. I started hearing an unfamiliar voice after a couple weeks though. I thought I was crazy but I didn’t tell anyone. The voice was gentle and friendly. It actually helped me deal and made me feel better. It was a guy, I could easily tell that much, and he said his name was Pete. He leaves me alone when I’m at work unless I need help calming down. I was fine until he showed up in my living room one day and I could actually see him for the first time. My heart stopped when I came out after a shower to see a tan skinned and tattooed man standing in front of my couch. His black hair hanging over his dark eyeliner rimmed eyes. Tears sting my eyes as I look at the face that’s been burned into my mind for months. His already ink covered arms have dark red lines across the wrists that look like scars but are meant to stand out, exactly where I remember. That was when I was no longer okay. I broke then and there and cried, scaring him and myself.

  
  


**_Pete_ **

 

I toss aside the phone. The 911 operator told me to stay on the line but I can feel myself slipping already. I waited too long to change my mind. My head spins and I hit the floor, my wrists burning. I lay there purely because I can’t get back up. The beige carpet around me staining dark red. Everything goes black really quickly. 

 

I vaguely hear the siren and I try to hold on but my body decides for me. It let’s go and everything goes away. I don’t know how long passed but I am suddenly hovering above my body. I feel floaty. I look at myself and find I look just like my body, even in death I’m still an emo idiot, but my wrists are marked with dark red lines across them. 

 

Then sound returns to me and I notice a small redheaded man leaning over my body. He’s wearing a Paramedic’s uniform and doing CPR. Trying to save me, but I’m already gone. I feel bad that he’s got to deal with this and something washes over me. I see a silver shimmering cord connecting me and him come into view. It fades in and out of visibility but never goes away. Another Paramedic comes in and kneels with the other, making the already small man look impossibly tinier. 

 

They talk but the only thing I catch is the smaller one’s name, Patrick. Beyond that I hear medical talk and I tune it out mostly. I know what he’s doing and I don’t really want to hear him say it. I’ve been pronounced dead on arrival.

 

~~~

 

As Patrick sits through the first few therapy sessions I find the cord means I’m tied to him, and I sit through them beside him. I listen to his pain and sift through my own. I caused his. I hurt him bad and I never even knew him. I don’t know why I’m tied to him still though. I follow him around and learn about him. He’s a cool guy, generally very sweet and kind and gentle, really into music and talented as heck with instruments and his voice.

 

I just observe him and his life, leaving him alone when I feel like he should be alone. I don’t try to change anything. I may be tied to him but I can wander around on a pretty big radius, so while he sleeps I usually wander around outside because I can’t sleep. They say ‘you can sleep when you’re dead’ but I’ve found this to be a lie. Ghosts don’t sleep apparently. I continue on this pattern until one night I wait till he actually goes to bed. I just head towards the front wall when I hear a soft sound coming from Patrick’s bedroom. At first my mind tells me to just go, he’s an adult and lord only knows what he’s doing, but after a second I realize it’s not that. 

 

I go towards his room and hesitate in front of his door. I hear the sound again, it sounds like….. I float through the door and see him curled up under his blanket, shaking and crying. I move to stand beside his bed, wishing I could help him, reach out and touch him or hug him. Say something even, just to comfort him or ask what’s wrong. 

 

“Patrick…” I say, knowing it’s pointless. “Patrick, I’m so sorry you’re hurting, I wish I could help.” he freezes. 

 

“Hello?” he wipes at his eyes, sitting up. “Is someone there? I thought I heard something.”

 

There’s no way...did he hear me? “Patrick?” I try again, he looks around, searching for the source of my voice. I smile weakly. “You can hear me?” 

 

He nods. “Where are you? Who are you?” he looks around. 

 

“I guess I’m not really anywhere.” I shrug out of habit even though I know he can’t see me. I’m not physically reachable so I guess I’m not here really, I just exist. “And my name is Pete.” he actually hears me and I don’t really know how. 

 

“Great so I’m hearing voices in my head but the voice has a name at least.” Patrick sighs. 

 

“You okay Patrick?” I sit on the bed beside him but he doesn’t notice. “Everything still bugging you?” 

 

“Nightmare, can’t get it to go away. I wish I could forget, get his face out of my head. How do you know about that though?” I sigh and shake my head as he asks. 

 

“I know a lot, don’t worry though.” I say realizing how sketchy that must sound. “I just want to help, you can talk to me if you want.”

 

~~~

 

Patrick and I have gotten closer since then. He talks to me at home, openly while he’s doing whatever unless someone else is there. I usually leave him alone at work unless he gets upset. Then I help. Sometimes I sit there and tease him and make him laugh while he’s doing paperwork. 

 

He’s in taking a shower right now. I sit in the living room on the floor. That’s one thing I avoid is seeing him naked, doesn’t really seem fair to him. I’ve managed to talk to him with no problems. I can make it so only he can hear me or I can freak others out. I only did that once though, when Gabe was being an asshole to Patrick about something dumb. He freaked right out but Patrick never found out. 

 

I want to be able to make myself visible to him though. Not yet because I don’t want to upset him and I know he’s still not over my death, but someday I have to tell him who I am and I’d like to be able to show him when the time comes. I stand up, I’ve gotten close a couple times. I can move things now, I’ve surprised myself with that but don’t do it in front of Patrick. 

 

I stand there and focus for a minute, centering my mind around wanting to be seen. I try to will it into happening. I feel something shift and I think I’ve got it. I get confirmation when I hear a little gasp and look up to see Patrick standing there staring right at me. He’s shaking, standing there in just his towel. He collapses to his knees, crying and I don’t know what to do. 

 

“Pete…” he says through the tear. “Your name was Pete?” he looks up at me. “It’s been you this whole time?” 

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Patrick. I thought it would upset you.” I avoid looking directly into those bright blue eyes. “I wanted to tell you eventually, that’s why I was practicing making myself visible.” 

 

I step toward him and try to rest my hand on his shoulder but it just passes right through. I sit with him. It’s all I can really do. He sits there for a long time, misses his dinner with his friends. They call him and he just texts back saying he doesn’t feel well. I don’t blame him. 

  
  


**_Patrick_ **

 

Being able to see Pete...changed something. He’s not just the voice in my head anymore. For one thing he’s a ghost, so technically I’m being haunted, but he seems to ignore the fact that he’s dead. We’ve talked about it a few times, he tried to change his mind, that’s why we were called but he didn’t call soon enough. He’s told me he’s tied to me but doesn’t know why. I got nervous when I realized he’s not in my head and is an actual person, or was anyway. I asked him if he has to hover around me all the time and he said he wanders. He realized why I was asked and told me he’s never seen me naked or in any other embarrassing position. The closest he’s seen to naked was when I was in just my towel when I first saw him. I sighed in relief when he told me that. 

 

He stays visible at home now so I know where he is, but goes invisible when others are around or when we leave the house. He’s been helpful at stores, if no one is watching and I can’t reach something he’ll get it down for me. He can be visible or he can touch and move objects, he can’t seem to do both yet. This seems to upset him, I can’t figure out why though. I’ve learned more about who he was before he died now, and he no longer acts like he’s just the helpful voice in my head. He acts like a normal person and will tell me if he doesn’t like the song that’s playing or make fun of me for little things. I smile every time he does. He’s more like a friend now. I’ve seen his siblings at work. Even his mom one day. He didn’t mean to tell me they were there but the little noise of discomfort made me ask. 

 

I learned that his name was Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, but god help you if you ever call him Peter, it’s Pete. I learned that he was into music too, he played in a couple bands but he was actually a bartender. He played bass mostly and loved the sound of it. He loves my bass, tells me I’ve got good taste in instruments. I played for him the one day and he thought it was the best thing. I’ve learned that he can actually change his ghostly appearance as far as being able to change what he’s wearing. He was surprised to find this out as well. I quickly learned that the man has an extreme distaste for wearing a shirt, not that I’m complaining, and that he’s got tattoos on more than just his arms. 

 

I found out he’d had a dog while he was alive that he gave up just before he died. I went to the shelter after I found this out and saw it still hadn’t been adopted. I changed that then and there. Pete was ecstatic. It was a white husky with two different coloured eyes. He told me it’s name was Bowie, which I approved of so I didn’t change it. Bowie is an energetic dog, and very happy and cuddly. Pete said that’s why he got him in the first place. 

 

Things got harder when I asked about why he’d done it though. He’d been in such a bad place and alone. I wish I’d known him when he was alive. That maybe I could’ve been the friend he called for help instead of his ex-girlfriend who wouldn’t answer and his supposed best friend that’d been the one sleeping with her. He says he wishes I could’ve been there too. That maybe he wouldn’t have needed the help if he had a friend like me. I want to hug him but when I tried I fell right through him. 

 

When it comes up close to his birthday, which I made him tell me, I sing to him and watch some of his favourite movies. He loved Tim Burton apparently and loved anything Halloween related. I shake my head at him as he goes on about different theories on monsters and witches and stuff. 

 

The anniversary of his death gets closer and he gets quieter. It’s hard for him to believe it’s almost been a year. He isn’t as talkative in the days coming up to it and I start to worry. He’s been trying really hard to manage being visible and being able to touch or move things at the same time. He almost had it. We even found out that when he can move other things he can also touch me. He’s rested his hand on my shoulder, almost hugged me once but got too excited and lost focus. He still can’t keep himself visible while he does it. 

 

That is...until I walk into my music room upon hearing someone playing with my keyboard one day and seeing him sitting there tapping at the keys. 

  
  


**_Pete_ **

 

It’s been a year. A year today since I died. I sit at Patrick’s keyboard while he’s outside walking Bowie. I tap at the keys and play a little tune. I don’t really know how to play, I just want to hear the noise. I think about trying to make myself visible while I play, I’ve gotten so close to being about to do both. All I want is to be able to hug Patrick. He’s become a best friend to me, and more than that I think I’ve actually fallen for the man. I doubt he feels the same and even if he did, how is loving a ghost fair to him? He couldn’t really be with me, and I wouldn’t want him to be. He has a life to live. Let him fall in love with someone else even if I have to watch from the sidelines. I just want to hug him. 

 

“Pete?” I hear him say and I turn around, he’s looking right at me while I’m playing. This confuses me for a second but then I realize he’s probably just looking at the keyboard because it’s making noise and assuming it’s me. 

 

“Sorry Patrick.” I look down. 

 

“No no no no, Pete I can see you playing.” he says and my head snaps up. He can what? I reach out a hand towards him and touch his arm. My hand doesn’t go through. “You feel solid, like a person.” he looks at my hand in disbelief. I immediately jump up from the bench and wrap my arms around him. I don’t fall through and he laughs, wrapping his arms around me in return. I get excited and before I can stop myself I kiss him. Just as I’m about to freak out and pull away, realizing what I did, he kisses back. I hold his face in my hand and deepen the kiss. When I do pull away he’s gasping for breath, I would be if I needed it, and I feel bad for forgetting he needs oxygen. He stands there and smiles up at me. 

 

“I’m sorry Patrick, that...I shouldn’t have...that’s not fair to you.” I say, stepping away from him. 

 

“Pete, I don’t care, I’ve fallen in love with you.” he says, “I never said anything because I didn’t think it’d make a difference but if you feel the same then I’m not afraid to say it.” 

 

I can’t find the words to tell him how I feel right now so I do the one thing I know I can do now and kiss him gently. I pull away and look him in the eye. “And you’re fine with me being a ghost? You’re somehow fine with the fact that I’m dead and no one else will ever be able to see me?” 

 

“How long can you keep up being physically present like that?” he asks and I shrug. He touches me and finds out. I’ve gone ghosty again. “Why can’t people see you? Even if you only do that trick when you have to interact with something they won’t be able to tell the difference unless you float off the ground of walk though something.” 

 

I look at him in awe. He may have a point. “I’ll never age. And I know people around here, they know I’m dead. And Gabe?” 

 

“I can get transferred to another hospital. LA maybe? I’ve always wanted to see LA.” he says. “Pete, we can figure this out.” He reaches towards me again and I make myself physical. He pulls me back toward him and kisses my cheek. “I love you.” 

  
“I love you too.” I smile and hug him against my chest. He shrieks when I lose focus and he fall through me and lands on the floor though. I try, and fail, not to laugh. “Sorry ‘Trick.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry for any feels I may have induced...this fic was...it's been a nightmare for the last couple days...but I had to finish it once I started it.


End file.
